


If I don't die

by Agent-Lizzo (NotEvenRossi)



Series: Jack Kline Bingo [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean Winchester is bad with feelings, Gen, Hurt Jack Kline, Hurt and comfort, Jack Kline Needs A Hug, Post-Episode: s15e13 Destiny's Child, TW: Suicide discussion, but he tries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23721277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenRossi/pseuds/Agent-Lizzo
Summary: “You what?” was all that Dean could manage. His voice was quieter than before, slightly strained. Sandwich now set down, and attention fully on the boy in front of him.“I need you to extract my grace” Jack repeated; Jack sounded like he was asking Dean to make him another sandwich. His words were simple. Unbothered.****Jack struggles with his soul being returned, and what he has done.
Relationships: Jack Kline & Dean Winchester
Series: Jack Kline Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704916
Comments: 12
Kudos: 88





	If I don't die

**Author's Note:**

> This was created for the free space on Jack Kline bingo, Heaven and Hell bingo, and SPN quote bingo. Along with the Dean fill on rare ship bingo (note: this is completely platonic. Just because I'm using it for rare ship bingo doesn't mean it's a shippy fic)

It was too early for Dean to even find a moment of comfort in the soft texture of his dead guy robe. There was nothing on his mind, but coffee… and a sandwich; As he made his way down the hall a fleeting smile crossed his face as he thought of the mild, and sweet taste of the swiss cheese complimented by the turkey, and russian dressing. Had it not been the middle of the night Dean most certainly would have taken the extra time to add sour kraut, and grill it into a proper reuben. The thought made his mouth water, but he wasn’t in the business for anything fancy at this time of the night.

The only thing that stopped him on his way to the kitchen was the light shining under the door from room number 21: Sam’s room. He stopped for a moment, putting his ear to the door to listen, before giving it a soft knock; Dean knew very well that Sam often slept little, and had recurring nightmares, but often he would sit in the dark trying to sleep, or go to the library to read. This was a change of behavior that put him on edge (any changes of behavior had a tendency of putting Dean on edge). With no response he opened the door, half expecting to see that something had happened, or Sam trying to get past some nightmare. He was relieved to see that wasn’t the case, watching his little brother sleep for a long moment, before tip toeing in. He grabbed the laptop off of his lap and onto the desk, and covered him with the blanket folded at the end of the bed; He didn’t attempt to get Sam himself to switch to a different position in fear of waking him up. 

“Might as well still be four, Sammy. Never want to admit you’re tired” he murmured to himself, his lips upturned with mirth.

He watched Sam’s room descend into darkness, and glanced around for a moment as if expecting something to jump out at himself or his brother. He had been forced to be afraid of what could be in the dark from a young age. With that he silently shut the door, and made his way towards the kitchen. It was nice to know that Sam was asleep. He knew that he had been worried with everything surrounding Jack. The kid's soul being returned to him had proved to be rough for everyone in the bunker. Dean knew that Sam wanted to be mad at him for not forgiving Jack yet, but he couldn’t be. Dean just couldn’t force the words out… he kept imagining Jack killing Mary. The amount of force that it must have required for him to completely obliterate the area around her. He kept imagining their house on fire, and the moment of normalcy he had believed he could have for a split second. He couldn’t imagine forgiving Jack for that. At least not yet. 

No sign of Castiel while passing the library, and he hadn’t been watching over Sam in his room. Dean assumed the seraph must have gone for a walk, or maybe a drive. Dean was surprised he left at all considering everything with Jack, and was certain at most he was less than ten minutes away getting some much needed air. 

Turkey. Swiss Cheese. Pre-Sliced Tomatoes. Russian Dressing. Bread. 

Dean gathered the ingredients, and then flicked the coffee machine on. He set to work, a small vibrato noise leaving the machine, shortly followed by the first few drips into the pot below it. Dean had only finished spreading the russian dressing on both sides of the bread, and started to place the tomatoes on when he heard the sounds of footsteps behind him. Castiel was likely out of the bunker, or he would have suspected it to be him. He glanced back, not too surprised to see Jack there. 

The kid looked tense, and his breathing was slightly ragged as if he had ran a mile. Dean didn’t immediately acknowledge him, simply keeping an eye on him from the side as he stepped in. 

“Hello” the greeting from Jack was simple, slightly distressed. Dean could remember many times scolding the kid for being too cheery for the middle of the night. Always happy to offer Dean a wave, and a wide smile. Dean found that he missed that more than he would like to admit, and simply offered Jack a nod in acknowledgement as he watched the boy make his way to the sink; he turned it on, opened the cupboard, and quickly reached for a glass. Dean noted that Jack’s movements were slightly jerky, too quick. He stood there for a moment looking at Dean carefully, before taking a step as if he was going to leave the room. Alarm bells were going off in Dean’s mind. 

Dean turned to his side before that could happen, handing Jack the sandwich he had been making, turning back to make himself one as well. 

A single word order: “Sit”.

Jack tilted his head the smallest bit, a small o-shape taking over his mouth for a moment; his eyes flickered to the door, but eventually headed to his seat with the sandwich and a glass of water in hand. 

“Thank you”

Dean wasn’t entirely sure what to say. Things with him and Jack had been difficult as of late. Even though he wasn’t at a point he could forgive him yet he still cared about Jack. He was working to get to a point where he could genuinely give him the forgiveness the kid deserved, but he wasn’t sure he was there yet. 

“Why are you still up?” Dean asked, turning towards the table with his own sandwich, and taking a seat. 

Jack didn’t reply immediately, opening his sandwich, and picking off the tomatoes; he stared at the small pile with furrowed brows, and downturned lips, as if they were personally offending him. Dean thought he could give Sam a run for his money with that type of brood going on. 

“I don’t sleep much” he plopped the last slice of tomato down with a little bit too much force, and it easily slid off the plate and on to the countertop. He quickly deflected “What about you?”

“Can’t sleep” Simple. To the point. Dean left no room for further questions “I know you have the whole Cas… angel mojo... I don’t require sleep--” Dean’s voice dropped slightly as if imitating Castiel with those last four words “--thing going on. But you’re human too. You normally sleep for a while, but you’ve been pacing the halls all week so: What’s up?”

Dean didn’t mean for his words to come out like a critique, but they did nonetheless. He knew that something was going on with the kid, and sure… it was probably everything going on with Chuck, but at a time like this? They couldn’t afford to have distractions, so it was his job to be certain. Right? It had nothing to do with reminding himself that Jack is hardly three years old. Absolutely nothing to do with imagining Jack sitting there with wide eyes, red and blue reflecting in them as he watched Star Wars for the very first time in absolute awe. 

“When I was first born… you were so certain that I would be evil, and you were right” A long pause. “I need to ask you a favor” Jack’s words were quiet, uncertain, wide eyes studying Dean for a long moment. Jack was trying to force nonchalance into his voice, and ducked his head down to meet his hands as he took a small bite of the sandwich, carefully chewing it as if eating for Dean’s benefit rather than his own. 

Something about Jack’s words sent a chill down his spine as worry built in his gut. Jack was like Sam in the way that trouble was bound to come following if they spent too much time with their mind wrapped around a single idea.

Dean had been midway through his first gulp of coffee with Jack’s words, and swallowed it down quickly. He could feel fire burn its way down his back, as if setting him aflame from the inside out. He let out a heavy exhale of air, and found that within a couple of moments the pain that had flared calmed itself once again.

“I was convinced” he agreed, he didn’t attempt to correct Jack, but he didn’t sound as certain as he once did when about Jack being a monster “Shoot”. 

Dean was aware that this chat was veering into dangerous territory for the two of them, but there was a certain glint in Jack’s eye that made Dean not so much as dare to stop it. Dean was truly trying to be better about the pure rage he felt boiling under his skin, and recognized part of that was giving himself proper time to process all that had gone on. He needed the time to poke at the topic of his mom, and Jack in the safety of his own isolation. Time to find all of the hidden tender spots, and abscesses of anger, so Jack didn’t accidentally poke at one of them, and burn them both in the process. 

“When I kill my grandfather. I don’t know if I will survive” he admitted slowly after a moment; it was a truth that Dean was nowhere near ready to face, but was well aware of the possibility of; Jack’s voice was steadier than it had been earlier, and he didn’t seem at all bothered by the possibility of his impending doom. Dean suspected that Jack had spent a long time mulling over whatever this idea was; His mind was set, and Dean feared that in this case that it was in fact not a good thing. 

Dean didn’t say anything for a long few moments, instead letting Jack sort out his mind; Dean took a bite of his sandwich, and Jack didn’t continue speaking until long after Dean had swallowed it down once again. 

“If I don’t die when I kill my Grandfather--” he paused for a moment before amending “After I kill Chuck. I need you to extract my grace” 

Dean felt his eyebrows raise, and his mouth open slightly as his eyes darted around the kitchen for a moment. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was certainly not this. That alone felt like a punch to a tender spot he didn’t even know he was harboring. 

“You what?” was all that Dean could manage. His voice was quieter than before, slightly strained. Sandwich now set down, and attention fully on the boy in front of him. 

“I need you to extract my grace” Jack repeated; Jack sounded like he was asking Dean to make him another sandwich. His words were simple. Unbothered. 

Dean sat there with his mouth still opened slightly for a long period of silence. A few times he formed words on his lips only to stop before they could possibly have a chance at voicing themselves. 

“Jack. If we drain your grace. You will die. Again” he finally landed on, but he was certain that Jack already realized that. 

“I know” 

He didn’t mean to get angry at the kid. He really didn’t, but his next words were harsher than intended nonetheless; they held a tone of hardly concealed anger: slightly strained, and louder than he had been speaking before

“Why would you even think to ask me that? That’s such a-- We’ve had some stupid ideas, but that takes the fucking cake” 

Dean watched as Jack recoiled back, flinching slightly as if Dean had physically burned him. 

“I killed Mary” he spoke after a moment, as if that on its own was cause for a death sentence “I’ve hurt so many people. I’ve proven that I’m-- I’m not the good person that Sam or-- or Castiel wants to see in me. I’m just not. You were right, Dean” 

Dean stayed quiet for a long few moments; he had never gotten such a reality check as it came back to him just how young Jack actually was. While he may walk like an adult, and talk like an adult at the end of the day he wasn’t even yet three years old. Jack was an adult in a number of ways, but emotionally? He didn’t hit that mark by a mile. Dean was aware that Jack felt emotions strongly, but he didn’t truly have an understanding of their intricacies. On this front Jack had a toddlers mentality, and things were black and white. Simple. Jack had done bad things, so he was a bad person who deserved to die. Dean had such a grasp on the mindset because it had been his very own for years. Hell, Dean knew he was probably the one who had instilled it into Jack before he was old enough to tie his own shoes. 

“You didn’t have a soul. For most of the bad things you did you didn’t have that filter. That guidance of knowing what was right from what was wrong”

Jack stayed silent still, staring at the sandwich missing a bite in front of him; Dean couldn’t quite make out Jack’s face, but if the sniffles were anything to go by he was surely crying, but for how long Dean had not known. He hadn’t gotten a good look at his face, so it was possible he had been since before entering the kitchen. Fuck. This would be a great time for Sam or Castiel to walk in to give him a hand, but alas it was just him. 

“Jack. You killed my mother and-- I’m still so angry. I’m so fucking angry” he admitted

He heard a small sob fall from the boy's lips; it was a painful noise of sorrow that had hit its capacity, leaving Jack gasping for air. Fuck. Dean realized with a start that he was going about this all wrong. After a moment brought his hand to Jack’s back, rubbing in what he hoped to be comforting circles. Dean wasn’t one to comfort normally (exception being Sam. He’s been dealing with those flares of anxiety or depression for longer than he’s acknowledged his own mental health), but he knew he needed to try. 

“But” he emphasized the single word, and didn’t continue speaking until Jack’s red rimmed eyes were looking up at him a long while later; there were dark bags beneath them, and Dean wondered when was the last time the kid actually had slept, He looked Jack in the eyes, and continued “But you didn’t have a soul and-- it wasn’t completely your fault” 

Admitting that Jack wasn’t completely at fault for Mary’s death was a painful thing for Dean to do, but it was necessary. It was true, more than true, and Jack likely deserved more than that, but it was all that he could manage. 

Hesitantly Jack asked “Does that mean you forgive me?”

“Yes” 

Dean confirmed that he did before he even gave himself a moment to consider it. Before he gave himself a moment to question it. Did that mean that he truly did forgive Jack when push came to shove, or did it mean that he just didn’t want to see the kid upset? Dean genuinely didn’t know. 

“But I--”

“No. Nope you’re not going there, Jack” he cut Jack off before even being aware of what the boy was going to say. Frankly, he didn’t care. “No matter what you did? Sam was right. You got a good heart, alright? You don’t deserve to die” 

“I don’t understand” Jack admitted after multiple moments of silence; he had broken his gaze from Dean some time ago, and now was once again staring at the pile of tomatoes on his plate “After everything you… you were going to kill me. You locked me in the Ma’Lak box... I thought that this would be the best solution.”

“Yeah… Yeah I was going to” Dean agreed, finally retracting his hand from the kids back when the cries seemed to subside to nothing more than the occasional sniffle. “I was trying to do what’s best for a kid who lost control… at the time what I was doing, it-- it seemed necessary. You were a danger to a lot of people. Innocent people. People that I care about. That you care about--” 

Dean had manipulated Jack. No, worse. He had forced Sam to manipulate Jack. Sam who had had faith in the kid from Day One. Who had ‘Mother-henned’ him even though Dean had thought against that tooth and nail. Sam who wanted nothing more than the kid to trust him, because he saw a reflection of his past self. 

“If you were still soulless… still out of control. I might consider that the best option after all of this was over too, but you’re not. You have control. We’re not going to extract your grace, and leave you for dead. Do you think that little of yourself?”

For a moment Dean’s words threw himself through a loop. It had to have been over a decade ago that Bobby had told him the exact same thing; the words had been different, but the meaning all the same. What an idiot he was being for selling his soul to bring Sam back. That an eternity in hell was different than dying before what seemed like Sam’s time. Only now, Jack was trying to sacrifice himself for absolutely nothing. 

When Jack continued his words were shaky, and his voice cracked towards the end “I don’t know I just-- I don’t want to hurt anyone else… having control. Having a soul. It doesn’t change what I did. I knew it was wrong I… I should have known that it was wrong. I loved Mary too, Dean” 

Hearing Jack say that hurt Dean. Hearing him talk about her was a stab of pain all on its own. Part of him felt an internal rage; after what he had done to her he had no right to talk about her. Jack had no right to say that he loved her, but the logical part for once in his life seemed to be at the wheel. Jack did love her, and had grown close to her in their time they knew one another. Jack had every right to grieve for her, and feel self hatred for what he had done in a time where his actions truly weren’t his own. 

“I know you did” Dean spoke after a moment, and his own throat seemed to tighten at the thought he waited before continuing “but that doesn’t mean that we are going to kill you, or let you do that to yourself. So you need to get that stupid plan out of your mind, because it is not an option. Do you understand?” 

The seconds before Jack nodded his head ticked by slowly for Dean, some tension building up in his shoulders; he would rather not have to go around in circles in hopes of Jack getting the idea out of his thick skull, but had that proved to be necessary he would have. 

“I understand” 

“Good” 

Once again the two descended into a slightly awkward silence. Dean studied Jack carefully; he was obviously tired, and he kept fidgeting under the intense stare; his hands repeatedly moving from his thighs to his knees in an attempt to smooth out the wrinkles in his jeans he never previously seemed to have an issue with. 

“Finish your sandwich and then actually try to get some sleep, alright?” 

Dean returned to his own sandwich, grateful to see Jack do the same. Dean didn’t know if he had genuinely been any help, and would likely tell Sam what had happened after to do some damage control. For the moment it seemed to be enough, aor at least it would make do until morning. Jack was eating his sandwich, and some of the tension in his shoulders seemed to droop away. Things were far from okay, but for the moment Dean could hold onto hope that one day they would be.

**Author's Note:**

> I love kudos and comments! You can find me over @winchester-stupid on tumblr!
> 
> For quote bingo the quote I used was "[I was trying] to do what’s best for a kid who lost control" from Dear Evan Hansen!
> 
> Also you can find my beta @bihuntersandgayangels on either tumblr or ao3!


End file.
